Criminal Virtues
by pearypie
Summary: Sebastian Michaelis reflects on the follies of man, the delicacy of the human soul, and the Earl of Phantomhive. / A frail, cobalt eyed nobleman (whose throat was so very breakable) was ordering him to and fro—and he, the demon of more than a thousand years, completed each task with all the obedience of a well trained hound. It was funny. [A series of one-shots]
1. Obsidian

What was youth but nature's first folly? A fickle, undecided thing that instills in children wavering hearts and unsteady rhythms. Sebastian thought the whole notion of youth whimsical—an epoch of great and troublesome burden for both child and caretaker. His young master was wise beyond his years but that childish implacability was still there and, at times, he found it amusing.

A frail, cobalt eyed nobleman (whose throat was so very breakable) was ordering _him_ to and fro—and he, the demon of more than a thousand years, completed each task with all the obedience of a well trained hound.

It was _funny._

Sebastian thought it was the funniest thing in the entire world—the best jape the universe could have devised. A contract, a bound mark…that was all it took. Oh, his master's suffering had been absolutely decadent as he withered in that cage; a shot of liquified diamond in the midst of charcoal gunmetal. What beauty! Surely there wasn't prose fine enough to describe the brutal loveliness of Ciel Phantomhive's crucifixion. Apple white skin lacerated with scars, midnight hair feathered and ruffled by the rough hands of man; the hollows of his cheeks and the pain in his eyes. He was the sweetest fruit on the vine and Sebastian had been the one to pluck it.

Now, all he needed to do was wait and, truth be told, his master was entertainment enough.

Absolutely hellbent on ushering out all happiness so that when the time came, there would not be a shred of light for Sebastian to devour. Even still, his soul burned—burned the darkest shade of blue, tinged with wandering slivers of pearl silver and swirling nebulas of starry ink. Sometimes, in his quieter moments, Sebastian wondered what it'd be like to sample that heavenly soul—just a taste. An appetizer before the main course.

Would it be as sweet as the fiancée who so adored him?

Would it be as rich as the ground on which he tread?

Would it be as savory as the blood he spilled?

Or would it simply be _him,_ the Earl of Phantomhive, in all his broken glory. Resplendent in ermine and delicate as silk; the servitude Sebastian engaged in only heightened his awareness, cognizant of the eden before him.

* * *

"And we must repeat this once again, young master. It will not do to rush through Strauss's fourth stanza like that. You must remember the light bounce and trill of the Kaiser Waltz—it echoes in harmony; the crescendo builds." Sebastian tapped a thin black baton against his master's music stand, eyes laughing but mouth firm. "Come now, you wish to impress the Lady Elizabeth do you not? Serenade her as she comes bounding down the hall."

"I don't want to do this period." He snarled but dutifully raised the violin back up to his shoulder, tucking the instrument under his chin as he raised the bow. "What measure?"

"The second will do."

Yet before a single note could be played, the library doors were thrust open and outside stood a flustered and panicked Finnian clutching a crumpled white envelope. "This just arrived for you young master!" He ran forward, nearly tripping over his own two feet, hand raised as he waved the letter about.

Sebastian suppressed a sigh of frustration, stepping in front of the earl and easily forcing the letter away from the boy's strong grip. "Thank you." The butler gave a sharp nod, cherrywood eyes cold with disapproval as Finnian cowered. Didn't anyone in this manor know any better? Music lessons ran from ten to eleven, followed by a rich tea interlude before expense reports were looked over and then, dinnertime. Was that really such a difficult concept to grasp? _Surrounded by inadequacy._ He mused silently, guiding Finnian back towards the double doors before slamming them shut in front of the blonde boy's face.

He collected himself, straightened his already impeccable posture, and walked back towards Ciel who was now seated behind that rosewood monstrosity again.

"Forgive the intrusion, young master, but a letter from her majesty." He smoothed out the crumpled parchment to reveal a single red wax seal, emblazoned with the British crown.

Ciel's brows furrowed. "So soon?" He questioned but then smirked. "I see the underground is preparing for spring as well. What a treat, wouldn't you say Sebastian?"

"Indeed."

* * *

And so the day progressed, just like that. There was no commentary to be found that would appear outwardly comical but to the demon, there was a slight catch in every phrase that made him smile. The self importance of these humans was staggering but not at all unexpected. In due time, all species would take for themselves a crown and sword, calling their own name instead of king and country. Wasn't that how revolutions were fought? When one man stoked the fire until it consumed him wholly.

Ah, the joys of idealism. Such a pretty, fragile thing. Once, when Sebastian lived some five or so hundred years ago, a human woman had called him devoid of sentiment, romance, and human kindness. She expected it to hurt or trigger an epiphany but all it did was amuse—she'd been a vain, selfish creature who praised her own beauty and expected men to do the same. Sebastian had little time for women such as herself, particularly since his master at the time had been a diplomat with very little spare time. Always rushing between France and Spain; to and fro they went, back and forth. He quickly saw that in spite of the linguistic and cultural differences between the two countries, hunger and strife remained consistent.

It was why his current master was such an intrigue. Sent to decimate the scourge of the underworld while he himself rotted in a hellish prison of his own making. What splendor, what radiance! Demons in general had no regime to follow; they were free flowing and survived independent of one another. To have such a strict young master was a great joy for Sebastian, for Ciel Phantomhive was someone who seemed determined to both shut him out and let him in. The young lord would not convey his private thoughts to him but Sebastian needed to know the mindset of his liege. There would be no bouts of pointless banter yet every word spoken between master and servant was of the utmost importance, weighed down by death and promise.

There was nothing binding the two together (save death) and it hadn't been until now that Sebastian caught the irony in it.

* * *

Porcelain skin, sapphire eyes, rose quartz lips. If his master were a sculpture, these jewels would comprise his face alone; his body would be black obsidian, able to glimmer under the silver moonlight. There would be Michelangelo on hand to do the Phantomhive countenance justice and Sebastian would remain hidden, watching as each curve and dip was brought to life. There were certain aesthetics about his young master he particularly enjoyed—the first and foremost being his skin. Pale and thin, like the petal of a white dahlia. It was so unlike his master's true nature; cold and steely, unyielding as the clock tower, remorseless as Valmont.

When Ciel had taken ill sometime ago, Sebastian had stood over his ailing body with a sort of curious apathy. It was strange to see his lord and commander so desperately alone, fighting a battle he could not help him with. His body had always been sickly, a final gift from his deceased mother, but the demon was grateful for the boy's physical foible—it made his mind that much sharper; his wit, that much quicker. How enjoyable their repartees could be when words had actually been exchanged, flowing from one mouth to the other. It passed the time better than wandering through the bowels of the underworld.

Much better.

That, the butler supposed, was why he had soaked cool, wet washcloths and laid them over his young master's forehead. Why he had tucked his arm under Ciel's shoulders, gently hosting him up so the little lording could take a sip of spiced apple tea and regain some much needed color on his bloodless face. Mey-Rin supplied fresh sheets and blankets and Finnian had dug out medicinal herbs and flowers from the vast Phantomhive garden. All of this was necessary to the butler's role: that of caretaker and caregiver.

So he didn't quite understand why, on the third day of his lord's illness, he had taken a pale blue vase imported from Marseilles and filled it with a bouquet of freshly cut belladonnas. Almost unconsciously, Sebastian placed the vase beside his master's bedside table and went on to brew another cup of spiced tea.

Lord Phantomhive awoke some hours later, drowsy and a little irritated as he looked around his darkened room. "Well." He demanded, voice scratchy from ill use, "how long has my body betrayed me?"

"Three days since you last entered your office, my lord." Sebastian replied, never missing a beat as he continued his elegant approach, a silver tray in his hands. "And now that you're well and awake, I'm sure you do not need me to feed you?"

A look of horror shadowed Ciel's blue eye but it dissipated as quickly as it appeared. "Nonsense." He motioned for the tray to be set down. "I've been eating alone since I was three. Maidservants tired me and I despised their coddling." He raised a pearl embedded spoon. "Is this…?"

"Miso soup. Light enough for your stomach to hold, nutritious enough to nourish the body." He bowed. "My lord."

"Has anything happened between these few days that I need to know about?"

"Not in the least. Everything has been handled and I have taken the liberty of informing Lady Elizabeth of your disposition. She was quite worried and wished to come over immediately but was stopped by Lord Edward, who feared that she may contract your same sickness." He gave a short bow. "She sent over an exquisite bouquet of carnations and camellias which I have placed in your study."

"And…?"

"A stuffed rabbit she has named Lapin." Seemingly out of nowhere, Sebastian produced a fluffy white toy rabbit with exquisite blue stone eyes and a pretty pink ribbon tied round its neck. "She sewed it herself."

His master looked at the rabbit with a mildly horrified expression but then held out his hand. Observing the rabbit closely, he gave a faint smirk. "Pink thread." He mused quietly, gently turning the stuffed animal back and around before laying it beside him on the bed. "Has her majesty asked anything of me?"

"No sire. She is aware of your illness and wishes you a speedy and efficient recovery."

"And my meetings?"

"All rescheduled to the end of this week." Sebastian gave a low smile. "You may think it presumptuous but I had a feeling you would recover well beyond week's end."

Ciel grimaced. "I'm sure you did. Now—" he paused, having finally caught sight of the vase beside his bed. He sighed with annoyance. "Tell Finnian to leave the belladonnas where they are. I don't want them near me."

"Apologies my lord." Sebastian bowed again. "This was entirely my doing."

The boy looked up, surprised. "Reminding me of my debt?" His master joked wryly. "I assure you demon, it has not been forgotten."

"Oh by no means. The fragrance merely appealed to me."

"Yes. The sweet scent of miasma and deadly nightshade." Ciel derided sourly. "How aromatic."

Sebastian chuckled. "You must be more willing to examine the smaller details of life, young master. After all, death has no flowers for you to admire and oblivion is not exactly a favored tourist destination."

Ciel glared. "Yes, you'd be the expert on ruination and cessation wouldn't you? Hell and all its fires do await you once I'm finished."

"Indeed." Sebastian mused, almost contentedly. "But we had best get you up and ready. No time to waste—your fiancée will be here at a quarter to seven to dine with you."

"You told Lizzy I was awake before I was actually awake?!"

"Of course not." Sebastian chided gently. "She wrote this afternoon stating her intentions. I do believe she wants to try her hand at nursing later this evening."

"Well, inform Elizabeth that I am very busy and cannot possibly—"

"It would be poor form to send Lady Elizabeth home. After all, she is to be your wife and you two have not spoken for close to a fortnight. Is that any way to treat a lady?"

Ciel's brow twitched. "I would never want to hurt her but—"

"Excellent. I shall be sure to prepare a gratin dauphinois for her visit."

"Don't be ridiculous. I won't have Elizabeth catching the remains of my fever."

"You're perfectly well."

Ciel hesitated. "I…may find myself exasperated by evening's time." He said slowly. The words were a touch unsure and immediately caught the butler's attention. "I shall spend this afternoon working and reviewing some of the tasks her majesty wishes to see completed. And with this lingering ache I am unsure if I can properly entertain Lizzy in the way that she desires…" he paused, wanting to say more. "To burden her spirit with my enervated form will be…" his jaw clenched and Sebastian did all he could to suppress his smirk.

 _So here lies the crux of his dilemma. My young master, wishing to appease his fiancée and fearing that he will become too tired by evening's end to properly spend time with her. Sentimental and foolish—but so lovingly cultivated._

Sebastian turned to the cup of spiced tea on the silver serving tray. "You'd best drink up young master." He handed the teacup over to him. "You'll need your strength for the rest of his evening."

"But—"

"I trust that the Queen's Watchdog is capable of persevering through a single dinner. After all, this is Elizabeth, the lady you have known since childhood. Her company has always left you revitalized in my humble opinion and seeing her again after so long might do you some good." He tucked the tray under his arm. "You need put on no airs for her. She is the one constant thing in your life, young master." Sebastian placed his right hand over his chest, deferential to the last.

"Wait." Ciel called, causing Sebastian to look up again with mild curiosity.

"My lord?"

"Lady Elizabeth."

His brows furrowed slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

"Address her as _Lady_ Elizabeth. You need not be so familiar."

Sebastian smiled, eyes glittering. "Of course my lord. Do forgive me."

Ciel nodded. "Dismissed."

* * *

And so it went, his young master living on borrowed time. A slow, solemn but elegant procession to hell, trailed by those he loved and loathed in equal measure. Sebastian often wondered what his young master would grow up to be. Physical age did not flavor the soul as emotional bedlam did but he had always been an inquisitive demon, forever examining the small details around him, analyzing the throes of both hell and heaven. Human nature fascinated him the most—what would Ciel Phantomhive be like in nine or so years? Married to Elizabeth? The Queen's Watchdog still?

Father to a son with a soul as temping as his own? Ah, _that_ would be a beautiful thing.

Sebastian was rather fond of Lady Elizabeth—indeed, she had surprised him in more ways than one and her staunch determination was admirable as was her radiant light. Daughter of the sun she was, wife to winter was what she desired. What would their child be like, the butler often found himself wondering, just before the vesper star rose. Would he be worthy? There was no denying Ciel's own delectability for Sebastian would be rather melancholy following his demise…but if there was a continuation…well. He would simply have to find a way to extend his lord's revenge, would he not?

Then death would befall the Phantomhives once again, save _him_ —that one precious little boy Sebastian would observe from the shadows until he was ready to be taken.

Then the game would played once again.

* * *

 **\- Title comes from de Laclos _Les Liasions dangereuses_. ("Humanity is not perfect in any fashion; no more in the case of evil than in that of good. The criminal has his virtues, just as the honest man has his weaknesses.")**

 **\- Kaiser-Waltz: composed in 1889 (a little later than Black Butler I know) by the Austrian Johann Strauss II. It was dedicated in honor of the friendship between Austria (heralded by Emperor Franz Josef) and Germany (ruled by Kaiser Wilhelm II). Translated, this is the Emperor Waltz.**

 **\- Valmont: referring to Vicomte de Valmont of Pierre Choderlos de Laclos' _Les Liasions dangereuses_ (or, Dangerous Liaisons; personally, I prefer the book but if I had to pick a film version I'd say the 1988 version with Glenn Close and John Malkovich is best). Valmont is a socially savvy, highly seductive manipulator who uses the weaknesses of women (and anyone else) to his advantage. He plays the game for the fun of it and acts as a match to the equally vicious (if not more so) Marquise de Merteuil - until he falls in love. **

**\- "** _ **Once...a human woman had called him devoid of sentiment, romance, and human kindness"**_ **\- I lifted this line from the film 'On the Waterfront'. It's spoken by the ever lovely Eva Marie Saint as Edie to Marlon Brando's Terry. (Seriously, love this movie.)**

 **\- Gratin dauphinois: a traditional French dish based on potatoes and crème fraîche. Very rich and warming (perfect for a winter day). Regionally found in the Rhône-Alpes. I feel like Lizzy would enjoy the Rhône-Alpes simply because of how accessible and versatile it is: it's situated between Paris and the Côte d'Azur and borders both Switzerland and Italy - similarly, I see Elizabeth as someone who is quite malleable and would have no problem situating herself in the lives of radically different people. (Ex: Ciel and Edward) So she'll always be a Alpes girl to me :)**

 **A/N: As always, reviews would be lovely :) I might turn this into a series of interconnected oneshots. Who knows.**


	2. Valentine

February 14th was a boon to the Funtom Company—truffles, caramels, and sweets of every flavor were rolled out through silver factories all across England. They were wrapped in tissue paper and packed in shiny red heart shaped boxes, tied with a pale pink ribbon and then, gone—sold to the masses for a commercialized holiday which served only to benefit businesses and whorehouses. In fact, Sebastian was half sure, his young master rather liked the influx of work that came across his desk every second week of February because it distracted him from the inane notion of _love._ Oh, how the Lord of Phantomhive would _sneer_ at that word and all the pretty insincerities it helped cover.

His demon butler, however, rather liked the date. It allowed him to subtly prod and promote insubordination under the guise of friendly servitude—breakfast would entail heart shaped crepes drizzled with chocolate, stuffed with strawberries, and topped with crème fraîche. A mug of hot chocolate, expertly prepared and mixed with cinnamon and clove, would be served in a blood red porcelain teacup, trimmed with gold and decorated with rose blossoms and ivy. Sebastian even exchanged the usual silver serving tray for one of pale rose gold. A slim Russian vase completed the aesthetic, with a single white gardenia in full bloom.

It would be a delightful surprise.

* * *

"What is this." Ciel Phantomhive, lovely as porcelain, cold as sapphire, sneered disgustedly as he glared down at his breakfast. "What _is_ this monstrosity."

Sebastian smiled, bright and cheerful. "Your breakfast, my lord. I've taken the liberty of sprucing it up in honor of the holiday."

The young lord grimaced. "Ah yes," he remembered irritably, "the one day a year where man has a woman's consent to act like a infatuated buffoon and get rewarded for it." He picked up his fork. "How demeaning."

"Yes, indeed." His butler agreed lightly, not sounding all too concerned. "But it would be appropriate to…prepare yourself. Lady Elizabeth—"

Ciel groaned. "Oh, I nearly forgot. She'll be coming over this evening and—did you get what I asked you to?" He inquired sharply. "Red beryl set in white gold, oval shaped with the Phantomhive and Midford crests intertwined."

"Of course, my lord."

"It'd be easier if Elizabeth just waited until next weekend. Perhaps if I send her enough flowers, she won't come over?"

 _Ah, and here is where your idealism begins to shine through._ Sebastian thought mockingly, forcing his features into a serene—but pitying—smile.

That shut his master up.

He sighed. "Very well. Keep the servants away until 5 this evening. Saint Valentine will be keeping me busy enough as it is."

* * *

At approximately 4:20 PM, Sebastian laid out his lord's evening clothes while the puits d'amour cooled in the kitchens (far, _far_ away from Baldroy's reach). Seemingly out of nowhere (the hidden hallway that interconnected his master's study to his bedroom), Ciel appeared and observed his butler at work. Sebastian chuckled softly; his little lord seemed quite queasy over one simple holiday.

"You seem troubled, young master."

The butler must always be aware, cognizant of his surroundings and the temperament of his liege lord. Today, the usually arrogant earl seemed rather hesitant. _I wonder what coaxing he'll need this time—another sweet? A bitter pill? An escape from this world and everything in it?_ "My lord?"

"This might very well be the last Valentine's Day I ever spend with Elizabeth." His master voiced this statement rather blandly and had he not been a demon (and attuned to the Phantomhive ways), Sebastian would have missed it entirely.

That faint warble of hesitation.

"Is it right for me to lead her astray like this? Perhaps things would be easier if I simply ended this engagement altogether. We both know I won't live to see a wedding, much less a future with anyone save Charon and Minos." The blue eyed earl walked over to his four poster bed (made of the finest African black wood) and leaned against it, arms crossed and presence far away. "Is it right for me to break Lizzy's heart? She'd be much better off with someone who isn't bound by obligation and hatred—she'd be a wonderful wife to anyone."

"Anyone but yourself?" Sebastian questioned, holding up two cravats—one delphinium blue, the other, a deep Persian. _Hm. Difficult indeed—Lady Elizabeth does like to see the young master in blue…best to go with the Persian then, as rich and vibrant as the Phantomhive ring._

His master reclined his head, eyes now fixed on the high vaulted ceiling. "I don't know. She's…she's _all I have left._ But I can't expect her to understand what I'm doing—"

"You sell your fiancée short. She's a very capable woman, if given the chance."

Ciel scowled. "The only person in the world who understands me is you, demon, and that is because of this contract that binds us together. I can't let Elizabeth…" he faltered, swallowing. "I can't let her enter our world. She's meant to stay in the light, meant to smile and laugh and dance to the spring waltz. I won't let this world break her as it did me."

"Then keep her spirits high." Sebastian turned away from his lord's supper attire, their eyes finally meeting—mahogany and sapphire. "Give her as much happiness as you possibly can until the end comes. You and I, my lord, are bound in solemn soliloquy—where you go, I shall follow, ever dutiful and ever faithful. However, the human plane is a fascinating structure and it would be a shame if you ignored all its curiosities, as if already in hell." He smiled, the sharp point of his canines evident, even in the receding light. "You are the Queen's Watchdog but do not forget, she is the knight's daughter and a formidable opponent herself."

Sebastian placed one gloved hand on his master's delicate cheek, curved smoothly and delicately as a lily petal. "I have seen many things, scourges and renaissances, and I can assure you, my lord, that damnation need not be singular. Black is but a shade after all, and you mortals do offer us such fascinating shadows." He leaned closer so their faces were only inches apart, an amused smirk curving on his mouth.

His master's hand reached out to touch the exposed skin of Sebastian's wrist, eyes dark and unreadable. "I would rather keep something precious near me." Ciel finally decided and Sebastian couldn't help but chuckle.

"Of course. You are a greedy noble, aren't you?"

"Careful demon, lest you forget who your lord and master is at the moment."

"And what a moment this shall be." Sebastian breathed, hand moving up to cup Ciel's chin. "I would like for this vaudeville to go on a little longer—I want to hear the crescendo build in every act, I want to see the finale come before the velvet curtains close. I would like, young master, that you not give up on life just yet." His grip on Ciel's jaw tightened. "It would make a disappointing meal if you were to fade away so quickly."

The earl's eyes flashed as his frail fingers squeezed Sebastian's wrist with all the strength his human body possessed. "Keep death away from me until the time is right. _That_ is an order." He hissed and Sebastian detected the faint whiff of dark chocolate and ripe Hudson cherries—sweetened to perfection. Ciel's hand moved up from the demon's wrist until he was clutching at Sebastian's upper arm, a hint of panic on his beautiful countenance. "Did you hear me, Sebastian? Tell me you've heard."

It amused him that the little lord thought him deaf but Sebastian showed mercy, raising his right hand to his chest in quiet promise. "You need not fear, my lord. So long as I am here, so long as you bear my mark, I shall never allow you to be harmed—neither by Reaper nor human—until the game is done."

Ciel relaxed, grip loosening as a look of false serenity and genuine steel resurfaced on his face once again. "Good." He declared, voice low, as his eye—bright and cold—fluttered shut for an all too quick moment. It was odd, Sebastian thought, how he'd grown accustomed to his master's delicate weight being pressed into his arms.

"Allow me to dress you for supper, my lord." Sebastian took a step back, disentangling himself from Ciel while the scent of chocolate and cherries disappeared. He gestured towards the rich silks and satins on the bed. "Lady Elizabeth will be expecting you to look your best."

* * *

 _After all, pleasure's a sin and sometimes sin's a pleasure._ Sebastian licked his lips as the young earl escorted Lady Elizabeth into the dining room, his own form trailing behind. Though the Marquess's daughter wore a lovely vermillion gown trimmed in lace, it was his master who personified cool grace. He cut a divine figure in his cobalt surcoat and tails, the heels of his black dress shoes clicking down the hall.

Sebastian had always liked Valentine's Day.

* * *

 **\- In Victorian times, the gardenia symbolized loveliness and secret love.**

 **\- Red beryl: also called the scarlet emerald; very rare, found only in Utah and New Mexico. Costs range from $2,000 to $10,000 per carat.**

 **\- Charon, ferryman of the Underworld who takes newly deceased souls across the river Styx.**

 **\- Minos, the final judge of the dead who casts the final vote in determining a person's immortal fate.**

 **\- Puits d'amour: a French pastry with a hollow center usually filled with red current jelly or raspberry jam. The name carries erotic connotations and literally translates to "well of love".**

 **- _Pleasure's a sin and sometimes sin's a pleasure_ \- writ by the ever eloquent Lord Byron. **

**A/N: Ah, I'm having way too much fun playing with the Ciel and Sebastian dynamic. There's a darkness between them that's both intense and distant, wanting and hating - supple and pliant.**

 **Should I continue with this series? Yay? Nay? Go away? LOL**


	3. Wedding

**A/N: So this is a bit more Ciel/Sebastian than what I usually write so…if you don't like it, please skip this chapter!**

* * *

Summer weddings were torrid affairs—horribly stretched out, embellished with useless ceremony while all the guests melted miserably in their silk finery. Men in wool coats with gold buttons and women in whalebone corsets and satin flowers; summer weddings in London emitted a heavy effluvium of thinly veiled pain. The fake, forced smiles while standing in ceremony with shoes that pinched too tightly; hair pulled back until one's scalp screamed mercy—weddings, in general, were awful.

But the Duchess of Brent was an unusual woman; though her mother was a god fearing Catholic, Arabella Blythe herself was possibly part dryad—she _adored_ nature. Therefore, her entire commemoration was held outside, in the sweltering 90 degree heat in an outdoor botanical garden covered with white lilies and rambling, dark green ivy. It looked lovely—a home for the flower fairies perhaps—but the stained glass greenhouse combined with noble finery was not a match made in heaven. In fact, the Countess of Langston had to be escorted out while the Viscount Asquith fainted in spectacular fashion, tailcoats flying as his beefy form nearly crushed the thin and frail Duchess of Lyndon.

But not a single member dared complain for the Duchess of Brent was a special case; so special in fact that even the Earl of Phantomhive had emerged from his dark manor to celebrate the occasion. Well, _celebrate_ may be too light a word— _investigate_ was more like it, though no one but the young earl and his butler needed to know that. The queen had grown increasingly concerned with the dwindling number of marriageable bachelorettes after two were found dead, one reported missing, and—right in the midst of this—the Duchess of Brent had decided to announce her engagement.

The previous two girls who died were from minor noble families; they had no direct relation to the queen or her unsavory side dealings but still, they were part of the aristocracy. The debutante who had gotten kidnapped was another matter—she was the niece to Viscount Verley whose family owned one of the largest glass operations in the London district. It'd been her sudden exodus that alighted the situation into a frenzy, forcing the queen to call upon her ever faithful watchdog who, after learning of the lady's departure, was none too concerned.

He had little time for such frivolities—a kidnapping case, shouldn't this go to Scotland Yard? Or perhaps maybe a private detective? But then again, his butler had reminded, these were not ordinary kidnappings—these were _noblewomen_ and, indeed, wasn't _Lady Elizabeth_ also a noblewoman? That had certainly ended his master's protests and he'd launched himself into the case with unparalleled diligence—until he'd been forced to attend _this_ wedding.

* * *

Lady Arabella held her reception at her uncle's summer house. The ballroom was a wonderful, romantic conclave of red velvet drapery and gas lamps in the shape of swans. The windows were all stained glass, arched and high, allowing pale pink light to filter in slowly—gently illuminating the white marble floor in a heavenly glow. Faint flickers of gold became visible, their mischievous brilliance infecting every last attendee, forcing them to dance in this sacred and hallowed hall of matrimonial bliss.

The young Lord Phantomhive sat obscured in the shadows at an empty table. Around him were five deserted silk chairs and a fine, cherrywood table that looked oddly grotesque with its numerous dishes and cakes. It exuded an uncomfortable ambience—the same feeling a child gets after consuming one too many sweets: headaches, nausea, and malaise filling every crevice and pore.

The earl, however, looked perfectly at ease; a dainty china teacup (with _hand painted_ roses) sat in front of him, simmering quietly. His butler, softly smiling, stood behind him. "Ah, here we are once again," the demon murmured amusedly, "you scowling—ignoring societal decorum as if it meant nothing. In all my years, I've never met a nobleman so opposed to dancing."

"It was too hot in that greenhouse." The earl retorted sharply. "A furnace in all but name. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the duchess was the killer—trying to assassinate everyone through heatstroke."

"Ah, but that would be too clean a death. Our little cutthroat likes playing with his food—much like you."

Ciel sneered. "I don't see why we had to come to his wedding—the duchess has already married and still no sign of the killer. A waste of my time. Death only follows wealthy, unwed maidens—not newly minted spouses who look absurdly infatuated with one another."

Sebastian hummed in agreement. "Perhaps this mission would have been easier if you'd donned a ballgown again." He chuckled to himself, effectively ignoring his young charge's glare. "I would make a fine suitor, if I do say so myself."

"You?" Ciel crowed in disbelief. "You're a _demon,_ Sebastian. No woman in her right mind would consent to be your bride."

"How you wound me, young master." He sighed, sounding perfectly distraught. "It would have been a beautiful scene—perfect bait. No criminal would be able to resist Lady Cecelia, distant cousin to the Earl of Phantomhive. Blood would stain you from head to toe."

"You're not making any sense." Ciel grumbled, thin fingers curling around the delicate handle of his teacup. "They'd recognize me for who I am. Without Madam Red as our shield, I can't pretend to be anyone else." He took a sip of tea. _Weak._ He derided, almost gagging at the taste. _Crushed rose petals and pearls—disgusting._

The feel of his butler's hand against his shoulder caused Ciel to freeze. Sebastian bent down, lips inches away from his ear. "You truly don't know how valuable your lineage is, do you? For centuries, the Phantomhives have been the scourge of the underworld, destroying one organization after another and replacing it with businesses of your own design. Each watchdog is relentless, with no apparent weakness in sight—a delicate, gentle rose such as Lady Cecelia, no matter how distant a relative she is, would be the perfect target of a hate crime." He leaned in closer and Ciel shivered—the demon's breath was cool, flavored like intoxicating pear wine that seeped into one's veins far too quickly. "You wouldn't even have to do much to lure them out."

Ciel felt anxious, felt as if he was waiting for something but for the life of him, he didn't know what that something was. His heartbeat began to flutter, like the wings of a hummingbird and for a brief, terrified moment he thought he was going to have an asthma attack.

Roughly, he shoved his butler away, much to the latter's shock. "Don't come so close." The earl ordered harshly, desperately trying to force his heartbeat back down. "Your presence makes me nervous."

Sebastian arched a brow, perfectly entertained. "Do I?" He chuckled, allowing one hand to trail down Ciel's cheek. "You've wrinkled your cravat." He sighed vexedly, placing both hands on the earl's slim waist to turn him around.

"We'll have to infiltrate Viscount Verley's manor after this." Ciel murmured, cobalt gaze unwavering as Sebastian knelt down in front of him, hands coming up to adjust the young master's tie. "His niece was staying with him during the week of her disappearance. Her own family resides in Brighton and from what I know, Verley had a falling out with his brother some time ago. Why would he send for the niece of the man he hates? He wouldn't demonstrate this sort of hospitality unless he had an ulterior motive."

"Which is?"

"Revenge." Ciel answered simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Verley and his brother, the Marquis of Courbet, had a fierce sibling rivalry that extends all the way back to their days at Weston. Verley was in Blue House and Courbet was in Red; they competed in everything though Courbet, by some measure, always bested his younger brother. It probably didn't help that Courbet would inherit the Rutherford title of marquis while Verley had to marry in order to keep his place in the aristocracy. Hatred, vindictive and pure, was the reason and his niece was simply collateral damage—another way to strike back at his all too charmed brother."

Sebastian had finished adjusting Ciel's tie and stood up, looking down on his charge with a deliberate smile. "Very good my lord." He nodded approvingly. "If you knew all this beforehand, why did we even attend Lady Arabella's wedding? Not that it wasn't…enlightening but—"

"I had to make sure that my conjecture was substantiated." Ciel replied easily, crossing one leg over the other. "I knew if I stayed here for long enough, word would spread that the queen's watchdog was in attendance. Verley has nothing to do with me—he isn't even on the board of consideration. All he wants is revenge and his tactics were obvious. Ladies Rosalind Newfield and Margaret Hamilton were close friends of Verley's niece. Verley needed to isolate his niece from the world, give her reason to come to him—with all the tragedy lingering around Brighton, why not journey to London to stay with him? Enjoy the season, meet new people—find a suitor. These are all the frivolous, childish things every debutante wants. How could she refuse such a generous overture?"

"Ah. By eliminating all holds on her ladyship's former life, Viscount Verley lured her into the lion's den in full view of the public. Verley's status as a patron of the arts and his family's nonexistent connection with the queen enabled further destruction." Sebastian's mahogany eyes glittered. "How interesting humans are—to hate so passionately over something so arid. The intangible, abstract prize of a title."

"Don't forget—he wanted to be praised as well. To have people laud him instead of his brother." A condescending smirk appeared on the earl's face. "In a way, Verley yearns for public adoration—much like someone else I know."

Sebastian took a step forward, bending down on one knee before his master. Head bowed, he raised his right hand to his chest. "You forget, my lord, that there is only one person's adoration I want."

Ciel scoffed. "Don't play me for a fool."

"As you once commanded, I speak only truth to you." Sebastian raised his head, an enchanting smile on his lips that would have made other women faint and swoon. Ciel simply stared. "You, young master, are my entire being—both figuratively and literally."

"Yes, yes, I know." The young earl raised a hand. "Without me you would have no reason to wander the mortal plane. Save your monologue for another time."

A faint bout of laughter escaped Sebastian, irritating Ciel all the more. _Does the demon find **everything** so bloody amusing? _

"Ah, my lord," he shook his head, "how little you see."

"Pardon?" The little lord raised a brow, incredulous. "You must be drunk. All this public hysteria can't be good for your demon mind. And stand up already—we're leaving."

Sebastian bowed his head once again. "As you wish."

* * *

The carriage ride to Viscount Verley's was a quiet one. His lordship seemed lost in his thoughts and Sebastian wondered if he was worried about infiltration—it'd been a good while since they visited any detestable nobles and the demon didn't think Viscount Verley had done anything _too_ disastrous. At least, nothing to warrant his manor being burned to smithereens.

"You're quiet this afternoon, my lord." Sebastian diverted, observing how his charge was sitting close to the window, cheek pressed against palm as he gazed out at the blurred scenery.

"I'm thinking." He deadpanned. "Verley will be difficult to pin down—we'll need a confession. The queen won't like hypothesis alone. She'll want fact."

"Do you plan to torture him until he submits?"

"Perhaps." Ciel smirked. "You'd like that, wouldn't you demon?"

Sebastian sighed, half exasperated, half amused. "I fail to see why you must remind me of my heritage at every opportunity."

"I fail to see why you continue to be insubordinate at every opportunity." He shot back, his petulant tone causing Sebastian to smirk outright. "What are you smiling about now?"

"Merely amused, my lord. Think nothing of it."

"Laughing at my expense?"

"Not at all." Sebastian swore with a look of utmost innocence. "I would never think to be so presumptuous."

Ciel studied him, briefly, eyes narrowing. "So you say." He moved away from the window so that they were now sitting across from one another, face to face. "After this mission is over we'll need to speak to Funtom's head of manufacturing. I've designed a new model of the child's rocking horse which ought to do quite well with the male demographic."

"Very well my lord. I shall write a letter informing Mr. Covington of your decision immediately. And, if I may?"

The question caught Ciel off guard though he collected himself quickly enough. "Proceed."

Without warning, Sebastian transferred seats so that they now sat together, bodies inches apart. Ciel's eyes widened. "Wh-what in blazes do you think you're doing?" He choked out, disturbed by the proximity of his butler.

Sebastian's answering smile was predatory. "My lord," he intoned smoothly, "there's a spot of icing on your cheek, near the corner of your mouth. Would you like for me to remove it?"

His young master looked utterly aghast but then shook his head, determined. "No. I'll do it myself." His tongue darted out, wetting his lips as Sebastian suppressed a chuckle. Ciel let out a slight groan of frustration. "I'm not getting it, am I?"

"Not quite, my lord." He responded, face serene.

Ciel sighed. "I suppose I have no choice." He motioned for Sebastian to continue. "Get on with it."

"Yes, my lord." Without further ado, Sebastian raised his gloved hand to his mouth and gently tugged it off using gleaming white teeth. "I couldn't abide this getting dirty." He explained, at the sight of his lord's incredulous expression. "Now then," he leaned forward, one pale hand coming to touch Ciel's cheek. "Let's get you cleaned up." Cool fingertips danced across the earl's unblemished skin, tickling slightly, before pausing at a pale pink spot of icing near the right corner of his mouth. "There we are." Sebastian murmured gently, hand swiping down carefully, bringing the icing to rest on the tip of his forefinger.

Smirking, the butler moved so that his hand was now centimeters away from his lord's mouth. "I'm afraid I can't eat this, young master. Demon physiology does not allow for it."

Ciel's cheeks colored, a delicate, rosy flush reddening his face. "What do you expect me to do about it?"

"You do like sweets, don't you my lord?"

"Well I— _yes,_ but you can't expect me to eat frosting from your hand."

"Not hand," Sebastian corrected, "my finger."

"No."

"Why ever not?"

His lord looked half ready to kill him then and there. "You're…I mean…this isn't—"

The butler brushed his forefinger against Ciel's lips, leaving a small trailing of icing behind. Almost unconsciously, his young master's tongue darted out to lick away the sugary confection. Sebastian smiled.

"There. Now open your mouth."

Ciel's face was tomato red by now as he glanced at his butler and then out the window. _Damn it. We're nearly there._ With only two more blocks before they reached the Viscount's home, he had no choice.

Obediently, Ciel's lips parted and, after hesitating oh so briefly, closed his mouth around Sebastian's icing covered forefinger. Sucking gently, the earl averted his gaze as a mixture of sweet sugar and…something else flavored his senses. Whatever it was, he didn't want to think about it. It was spicy—almost like cinnamon—but heady too. _Bourbon?_ It tasted… _good._

Sebastian, erstwhile, was intrigued. His lord's mouth was warm, silky, and wet; it was a pleasant sensation made even sweeter by his master's furious blush. Smirking, Sebastian swirled his finger around the inside of Ciel's mouth before removing it; glancing down, he saw that the frosting had been cleanly removed.

"Well done, young master."

Ciel, red cheeked and embarrassed, turned away, glaring out the window. "Shut up."

* * *

 **A/N: Wasn't going to post this for another week but I couldn't resist. I'm slowly getting sucked into this fandom. Someone help.**

 **Now open to drabble requests :) give me a word, situation, or description for me to fanfic! A part 2 of this will be up soon: alternate scenario - Lady Cecelia and her fiancé, Lord Michaelis, attend the Duchess of Brent's wedding. OR: "Dammit, Sebastian, did you have to lace this corset so tightly?" "Well my lord, you do lack a woman's breasts."**

 **Yay? Nay?**


	4. Ruby

**A/N: Hello beautiful people! In this chapter: Sebastian decides to plant some irises in the garden when he discovers a strange box, decades old, buried beneath the earth. Madam Red flashback.**

* * *

 _There is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything._ \- Lord Byron

* * *

My dear nephew—

I don't suppose you'll know who I am—after all, you've only just been born. I held you moments ago—you were so small and fragile in my arms. I was terrified you would cry when you looked up at me but all you did was smile—and it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Your eyes were bluer than the sapphire sky, just like Rachel's, and you gazed at me with such wonder, positing _who is this strange woman with red hair and flushed cheeks?_ Well, my dear, darling nephew I am your aunt, Angelina. But please call me Anne—everyone does. I want you to find this letter when you're older, perhaps married and content with children of your own.

Your birth was a revelation to me although I can't explain why. All I know is that once I held you Ciel, it felt right—your body was soft and radiated warmth, even wrapped under all those layers of cashmere. You seemed to want to speak—demanded the right to be heard—and oh, how that reminded me of myself. Yearning to voice my own thoughts to a careless world, rejected for my beliefs because women are supposed to have none. But it will be different for you Ciel, you'll be able to do wonderful things and I cannot wait to see all that you'll accomplish.

I am but 19 myself, unmarried, and pursuing a medical license much to my own parents horror. Is it so wrong to want to be a doctor? To want to do something meaningful with my life other then chase after men and dance to pointless songs? Oh dear—please ignore that. I'm not yet 20 and already I sound so cynical. I hope you won't become like this when you're my age—I hope…I hope that you'll find someone who loves you. I hope you'll let them pursue their dreams in addition to loving you. In fact, if I ever become your spinster aunt, I'll be the one finding matches for you! Although, your Aunt Frances has a daughter—a golden haired little angel named Elizabeth who I think you'll love. She's beautiful Ciel (and if you two happen to be together while you're reading this then, what did I tell you? I am Cupid's arrow after all!).

As I write this I've come to see that I've said nothing of worth—this is one long ramble by a girl who's been completely thunderstruck by your presence. How do you do it, little one—you're not a month old and already you've got my heart in your hands. I promise Ciel, I'll always protect you and love you and be there for you. Never be afraid to speak to me for I shall always listen. Every word you say means something and every worry you have will be my burden as well. Keep safe and happy dear nephew of mine.

All my love,

Anne

* * *

Sebastian had found the letter not too long ago, buried in a faded and dirtied black wood box beneath the gardens of the Phantomhive Manor. It was mid-March and the weather was breezy—a bit chilly, actually, but the yellow sun was out and it seemed the right time to plant a few bouquets of French irises in the back lot. His young master was busy in his study while the other servants—bumbling group of fools they were—had actually made themselves useful cleaning the guest bedrooms. It was a rare moment of peace and quiet—and Sebastian wanted to take every advantage of this tranquil prelude.

He certainly hadn't expected a sinner's confession to come into his hands and briefly, the demon wondered why Madam Red buried it. It was old after all; the pages faded yellow and crinkled with time; the smooth black ink looked more grey than anything else. Her handwriting had been deliberate and rushed all at once—as if she wanted to put every thought she had on paper. Curious.

He'd stopped his planting midway and skimmed through the note, a calculated smirk dancing on his lips. _Oh Madam Red,_ he pitied, _so full of potential in a world filled with women of weak spirit and cheap guile. Yet, there you were—loving a man who could never love you in return—isn't that Venus's true revue? To plant the notion of attainable affection in man's minds before snatching it away, just as quickly._

He chuckled. Demons knew a great deal about love—after all, it was the tool men sought to _conquer them by._ What a lark, what a jape!

A poor safety net—a pitiable inviolability. Thinking that the devil could be kept at bay through _love._ What was it but a defect of the heart?

Yes, Sebastian pitied Madam Red; she had been ever so entertaining—wit and banter on the tip of her tongue, she managed to make humanity look like a theater show. The madame represented every cruel joke of society and satirized it to perfection—the socialite queen who wielded knives by moonlight, slaughtering prostitutes in an effort to bring back what she lost. Her final elegy.

Killed by a Reaper.

* * *

Using demonic speed, Sebastian finished his gardening with the grace of Artemis's arrow and now walked down to the kitchens. It was around 3 PM and his master would be wanting his midday tea. Stoking the fire, the butler decided on a maharaja chai, delicately spiced, paired with an apricot tartlet.

In front of him, the red and orange flames burned, incased inside the black metal stove. Sebastian stared into those depths with something akin to curiosity. Without a word, he pulled the tattered and faded letter from his breast coat pocket and, with a flourish, threw it into the fire. The flames ate up the offering greedily, devouring the thin, pitiful pages until nothing remained—only more flames, more fire.

 _Well,_ the butler thought with a satisfied smirk, _that was that._

He didn't need Angelina Dalles giving advice to his young master from beyond the grave. Whatever words she uttered would no doubt be ignored but…why take such a risk? Sebastian had spent years cultivating his lord's soul, carefully preparing it to his liking. The darkness within this blue eyed lord seemed to grow and grow and soon, the demon reasoned, it would spread to every corner of his frail, porcelain body. What might have been redeemable was now gone; with every prod and quip that left Sebastian's lips, the harder and more indistinct his master became.

There wasn't much Sebastian liked in the world around him—oh, there were things he found amusing but nothing he particularly liked. He did, however, enjoy his master—perhaps that was as close to fondness as a demon could get but it was _close enough._ He wanted Ciel Phantomhive to march into the abyss triumphantly, wanted him to die in a splendid, silken fashion. Trussed in pearls and laced with silver lilies—that was how his master would die.

And no one would take that away from him.

Sebastian would see to that.

* * *

The first thing Sebastian saw when he entered the Phantomhive office was that his master was not there. Instead of sitting behind his grand rosewood desk, reading over paperwork and busying himself with acquisitions, Lord Phantomhive was seated on a plush, Persian blue armchair by the fireside, observing a fiery gold and blue painting. Turner's _The Slave Ship._

"My lord, your afternoon tea." Sebastian pushed the trolley over to the carpeted inglenook, unbothered by his master's silence. "Today will be a finely spiced Indian tea known as maharaja chai followed by an apricot tartlet, lightly sweetened, and served with clotted cream."

"Fine."

His dispassionate response did little to stymie the butler's cheer. Sebastian served a perfectly round tart onto a Wedgwood platter—blue and white this time. "You seem troubled my lord."

"I'm not."

"Ah yes, I do forget that the scowl is your usual expression. Forgive me for my absentmindedness."

"You're lucky I don't order you to jump out the window for that comment."

"Piercing glass won't harm me." Sebastian chuckled, giving a short bow as he placed tart and tea on a richly carved pedestal table by his lord's armrest. "Is there anything else you need this afternoon?"

Ciel still refused to face him, eye and eyepatch fixed on the painting in front of him—the one that hung so proudly above the shaded hearth. "No."

"Very well then. Supper will be served at six. My lord." He bowed and turned to leave, carefully debating between a coq au vin or the heartier boeuf bourguignon. _A difficult choice…if I do decide on the coq au vin, then it'll be necessary to prepare a gâteau de ménage. On the other hand, my young master seems not to have much of an appetite this evening so the bourguignon might be wasted…though if I prepared the boeuf, dessert could be a blackcurrant cake and the little lord_ _ **does**_ _enjoy blackcurrant…_

Tedious. It was all very tedious.

* * *

 **A/N: This was more of a character study regarding Sebastian's view of Madam Red but oh well. (I really, really miss her and wish Grell hadn't killed her even though it added to Ciel's character development but UGH. Madam Red—WHY.) Next drabble: Lady Cecelia and Lord Michaelis attend the Duchess of Brent's wedding.**

 **\- Also, J.M.W. Turner is one of my absolute favorite painters so if you see anymore references to him in my fics, you'll know why :)**


	5. An Interlude - The Requiem

**A/N: So I know this chapter was supposed to be Lady Cecelia and Lord Michaelis but I was suddenly struck by a bout of poetry inspired madness and wound up writing an elegy for Madam Red.**

 **If you don't like, feel free to skip!**

* * *

 _ **an elegy to madam red**_

 _to the scarlet siren of vermillion emerald_

 _scintillating with her roman prose,_

 _the fatal mouth of Alecto and rose_

 _to whom she burned out soul and throes_

 _masquerading in black lace and pageantry_

 _to disguise the maiden still within,_

 _clutching at sheaths so paper thin_

 _of a memory courted by kore and wind_

 _blessing her frail heart until the end_

 _~ o ~_

 _the sins of the father she may recall,_

 _hidden in an alcove—ridotto, Vauxhall_

 _wielding blades, no marionette doll_

 _she was guided by Apollo—gilded, forestalled_

 _and still the cures of man and wake_

 _could not shake her from her state_

 _for when the tide of times did turn_

 _she let her heart roar and torch burn._

 _Hera blessed her with marriage and truth_

 _yet Plouton, be still, could not refute_

 _for how could sinner's ridge be born,_

 _without the sacrifice of blood to mourn?_

 _~ o ~_

 _to the scarlet siren of vermillion emerald_

 _afire in a vineyard of marigolds true,_

 _burning and blazing searing the sun's fire_

 _coercing Vesper and Eros and hell's pyre_

 _here's to you, woman and carmine,_

 _coquette and vixen and sun fire's muse_

 _here's to you, aunt and friend,_

 _may you find rest in eternal resplendence_

\- C.P. November 9, 1888

* * *

 **Notes:**

 **\- roman prose: references Roman literature from 240 BC to 14 AD. Full of treachery, doomed romance, tragedy, and death, these epic poems defined the turbulent troughs and crests of the heart which, in reference to Madam Red, would fit well with her own passionate demise**

 **\- fatal mouth: femme fatale**

 **\- Alecto: meaning implacable and unceasing anger; she is one of the Erinyes in Greek mythology**

 **\- maiden still within: Madam Red's childhood obsession with one Vincent Phantomhive**

 **\- kore: the name of Persephone when she was still kept as an innocent and naive girl by her mother, Demeter**

 **\- ridotto: Italian, meaning "the private room" that was eventually converted by Venetian government officials into a government-owned gambling den. The Italy I'm referencing here is the 1400's Italy, filled to the brim with revenge, consigliere's, hidden mistresses, corrupt church officials, hit men, underbosses—basically, the Borgias times ten. I feel this is an accurate portrayal of our favorite red haired Reaper, Grell who (in my opinion) is like a gambling house in many ways**

 **\- Vauxhall: referring to the Vauxhall Gardens located on the south bank of the River Thames. It was an attraction site, constantly filled with enormous crowds who gathered to preen and observe. It also had many romantic walkways couples could stroll down in. To me, Vauxhall is a direct juxtaposition to the ridotto: Vauxhall is what Madam Red is like to the public eye**

 **\- Apollo: referencing to his patronage of medicine and healing in particular**

 **\- Hera: goddess of marriage and childbirth**

 **\- Plouton: the Latinized version of Pluto, AKA, Hades—king of the underworld; god of the dead and riches**

 **\- marigolds: in Victorian times, they symbolized cruelty and grief**

 **\- Vesper: the Roman equivalent to Hesperus, the personification of the evening star around Venus**

 **\- Eros: Aphrodite's son also known as Cupid in Roman mythology. I'm specifically referencing his bow and arrows, how one shot could make lovers fall in love**

 **\- carmine: also references to the opera** _ **Carmen**_ **where naive solider José is seduced by Carmen. She leaves him behind in favor of glamorous toreador Escamillo (plot line sound familiar to anyone…?)**


	6. Wedding Redux

"Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent." - William Shakespeare, _Twelfth Night_

* * *

"And my, oh my! Just look at you—aren't you an absolute _darling!_ " The Dowager Duchess of Brent, mother of the satin white bride, cooed down adoringly at an indigo haired, sapphire eyed beauty dressed in a gown of deep violet, off the shoulder, and embroidered with silver lilies. Her skin was fresh and dewy—the color of peaches and cream—made even more alluring by the soft pink of her full lips and the embarrassed flush on her rosy cheeks.

"I—um, Lady Cecelia, your grace." The girl stumbled over her introduction though the Dowager Duchess paid no heed—such an endearing charm, such a delightfully sweet voice! Lady Cecelia then entered into a hasty curtsey though the grip on her skirts faltered and her right foot caught on a pool of silk.

Before she could stumble forward, the tall, imposing dark haired man to her left caught the young lady by her elbow, the other arm coming to circle her waist. He bent down and murmured something—lovers endearments?—into her ear before glancing up and gracing the duchess with an all too beautiful smile.

"Allow me to apologize on behalf of my fiancée." The mysterious man intoned playfully, helping Lady Cecelia stand before bringing her to his side so that her cheek pressed against his waistcoat. "Her health is somewhat frail and the excitement of the wedding must have gotten to her." He gave a rueful—though tender—smile. "I cannot commend your beloved daughter enough on the venue this afternoon. With the carnations in full bloom and the sweet scent of lilac perfuming the air—truly, your grace, there could not have been a wedding more beautiful."

The Dowager Duchess suddenly felt very lightheaded—as if she'd sprinted a whole mile in a too-tight corset. Her vision grew fuzzy and she felt most indecent—ah, to be young and in love again! Her sharp grey eyes flickered down to the young lady again. Her expression was one of discomfort and she chewed on her bottom lip nervously, as if waiting for a reprimand. She couldn't have been older than fifteen if the duchess was being generous but (and this was her foolishly romantic side coming out again), she couldn't help but admire the devastating couple before her.

The man cut such a tall, dashing figure and his petite, frail bride-to-be was every so lovely! A perfect spring rose of innocent pale pink.

"Your grace?" The man inquired again, a touch concerned.

His voice—a choir of angels or perhaps Mozart in heaven—shook the Dowager from her revere. "Hm? Oh yes, do excuse me." She smiled pleasantly, studying the pair critically before continuing. "You must pardon me for this abrupt inquiry but have I seen you before, my lady? High society is such a limited sphere and I'm sure I would have remembered a face as lovely as your own."

"Oh you do me too much honor, your grace." The girl managed, somewhat bitterly, though she maintained a most gracious smile. "You must be referring to my cousin, Earl Phantomhive?"

* * *

"You must be referring to my cousin, Earl Phantomhive?" Ciel grit out, teeth clenched as he struggled to sip breaths while encased in a _highly_ constricting whalebone corset. He literally felt as if someone was squeezing the life out of him. Sebastian had tightened the tortuous garment until Ciel felt ready to pass out—and even then he'd clucked his tongue, admiring the "hourglass" of his master's figure but admitting there could be nothing done about his lack of…endowments.

The butler was just having far too much fun—holding him in a most inappropriate manner and smothering Ciel with his body heat. He wanted to _leave._ This was going beyond the call of duty, catching a murderer of virginal brides should not have been this difficult. He could deal with psychotic, homicidal maniacs—enjoyed toying with them even—but _this._

This frivolous, trussed up _farce_ was utterly painful. The guests were bland, stiff, dull, and propriety oriented; the bride was an empty headed flowerpot; the weather was behaving like a treacherous stepdaughter—

"Oh _yes!_ " The Dowager Duchess squealed excitedly as Ciel grimaced. _And the mother of the bride seems to be the worst of the lot._ "The young earl—what a curious young man!" She continued on, completely oblivious to Ciel's discomfort as he was forced to lean against Sebastian for support. The corset was digging into his right side, determined to exhume Ciel's internal organs. "I had no idea he had a sister!"

Ciel's exposed eye widened with minor panic as he felt Sebastian chuckle, delighting in his master's agitation. _Bastard._

Ciel swallowed a scream. (Shriek of frustration, really, but no one needed to know.)

"Ah, I cannot be so fortunate as to be an immediate relative, your grace." He pitched his voice just an octave higher. "I am but a distant cousin belonging to his late aunt's side." _Come on demon—I_ _ **know**_ _you can end this conversation here and now. I'm dying._ "In fact, your grace, I could ask him to—"

"Oh yes, dear Madam Red!" The Dowager cried theatrically, and—like a magician—pulled a bejeweled fan out of thin air. "I did not realize you were a relation of our beloved hostess. She was always so discerning—so full of wit and grace and style! Tell me—did she arrange for your betrothal to this handsome gentleman right here?" She began fanning herself rapidly, the black ostrich feathers faintly reminding Ciel of a skunk's tail.

Distracted (and breathless) as he was, Ciel opened his mouth to answer but was beaten to the punch. His jaw clenched.

 _ **Now**_ _the bastard wants to make conversation?_ _ **NOW**_ _?!_

"You are as perceptive as you are lovely, your grace." Sebastian charmed easily as Ciel suppressed a gag and instead turned his gaze downward, feigning modesty. "My lady's beloved aunt was indeed Cupid in our situation. In fact, had it not been for the ingenuity of Angelina Dalles, we may have never spoken to each other at all."

The Dowager Duchess swooned dramatically, excitement glimmering in her eyes as she responded with all the enthusiasm of a five year old girl awaiting her new doll. "Oh, do tell, do tell! I've been dying for a good story these days—everything else has been so dull!"

 _Much like you._ Ciel wanted to sneer but Sebastian's motor mouth had already opened. _Yes demon, embarrass me further why don't you? Just tell her I saw you and felt all the passion of Juliet rush over me. Ungrateful—_

"It's not much of a tale to tell but—" Sebastian glanced down at Ciel, playacting the role of devoted fiancé all too well. "My love for Lady Cecelia cannot be understated and I am a selfish man. Without her, I cannot breathe, cannot think." He sighed this confession with great ardor though Ciel knew exactly what he was playing at.

 _Cannot breathe, huh? Why don't I lace_ _ **you**_ _in a steel and death corset sometime? Better yet—why don't I stuff you into forty layers of silk and then force you stand outside, in ceremony, for hours on end in the middle of July?_

"Love at first sight?" The duchess cooed, blissfully ignorant of Ciel's true feelings.

"Something like that, yes." Sebastian smirked. "It was at a soiree held at the Chateaux de Pierrefonds by the wife of Admiral Léopold Gaumont. I was invited as I had known the admiral's son while we attended university together and, by some stroke of fortune or fate, I happened upon Lady Cecelia Moitessier." He allowed a faint smile to appear on his lips, mahogany eyes shining with earnest (and practiced) love.

"She was resplendent—dressed in a gown of cherry blossom pink, hair dark and glimmering—the way the Baltic Sea looks when dawn first smiles upon it. She mesmerized me before I could even formulate a single coherent thought—I found everything in me suddenly disjointed and broken, and only when I dared approach her did I feel accordance wash over me again. Yet even that was a pittance to the power of her gaze. One look my direction and I finally found the eden that had been lost to Adam all those eons ago. Words dissipated when I saw those sapphire eyes, for no jewel could match her brilliance." Sebastian pulled Ciel's body closer, right hand coming under his master's chin, tilting 'Cecelia's' head up so cobalt met vermillion. "Confusion, passion, want, happiness…every emotion every felt by man coursed through my body and I could not conceive how I had managed to live so long without her." He ran a long, skillful finger down Ciel's cheek, exhibiting every tenderness. "No priest could divine anything as holy, no cardinal procure anything so true as the smile she presented me when I finally managed a broken, incoherent hello."

To the outside world, the scene was of such delicate passion—such honest virtue—that Austen herself could not have contrived a more moving or devoted sentiment.

To Ciel, this was utterly inexcusable—not only was Sebastian making a fool of himself but he was grating on his last nerve. The _audacity_ of this bound and blind demon was preposterous! He ought to be hanged for a day or two so sense could be choked into him!

As if sensing his master's complete and total distaste, Sebastian leaned in closer so that his mouth was only an inch away from Ciel's.

 _"Kiss me now and I will_ _ **end**_ _you."_

Sebastian chuckled. _"Now, now my lord—I am a showman after all. And what romance would be complete without the lovers kiss?"_

Without waiting for Ciel to respond, Sebastian's mouth met Ciel's in a searing, scorching kiss that was utterly and absolutely indecent. Ciel's petal soft lips were like velvet as Sebastian coerced them open, running his skilled and teasing tongue along his master's lower lip before sucking lightly.

Ciel felt dizzy. If he had been lightheaded from the corset before, he was _positive_ that he was going to faint now. Sebastian's mouth was talented and his breaths came out hot and wanting; the butler seemed adamant in his task of suffocating Ciel for he had tightened his right arm around his master's waist so that their bodies were now pressed together, chest to chest. His left hand cupped Ciel's jaw, running up to his cheek as he caressed his master's skin with utmost reverence and thinly veiled desire.

This was all too much. The corset was already robbing Ciel of breath but combined with Sebastian's barrage of kisses and soft sighs (was he...was he _crooning?_ ), the Earl of Phantomhive felt certain he was going to pass out in the most embarrassing fashion within the next five seconds.

In fact, Ciel was certain he'd never felt so grateful for the Dowager Duchess's overactive emotions than now, when she burst out in a delighted, overly enthusiastic cry. "Oh, how beautiful! How lovely! Never could I have imagined such a love story—and the passion you two hold for one another is simply _sublime!_ "

A furrow appeared between Ciel's brows. _Passion? What on earth is she going on about?_ He briefly wondered if the old bird had lost her mind (she _was_ quite old, somewhat decrepit too) before glancing back at Sebastian.

A look of horror and realization washed over Ciel's face. Sometime, in the midst of Sebastian's oral assault, Ciel's hands had come to rest on his butler's shoulders before slowly, unconsciously, snaking around Sebastian's neck so it appeared as if…as if Ciel was _embracing_ him! Good grief…had this wedding finally driven him mad? Was it heat stroke? Temporary insanity? Devilish temptation?

Ciel's mouth felt dry and a hot flush began to burn every inch of his unblemished skin.

They needed to leave.

 _Now._

* * *

Ciel ordered the violet dress burned and informed Sebastian that, no matter the circumstance, "Lady Cecelia" would _never_ be making a reappearance again. _Ever._

"Hm, why not my lord? I rather enjoyed her."

"Mention that incident again and I'll order you to remain in a locked closet with Grell for a full week."

After that, things at the Phantomhive Manor returned to their usual state of unhinged normalcy.

(Though Grell was quite upset when she discovered that her precious Sebby could have been hers for the taking a month later.)

* * *

 **A/N: As promised, Lady Cecelia and Lord Michaelis at the Duchess of Brent's wedding. (Well, more like being held hostage by the Dowager Duchess but, eh, same difference.)**

 **I might continue with this thread in the future but until then...**

 **Review?**


	7. Freesia

Death was coming for everyone and everything. Ciel knew that. Whatever attachments he had to this world derived solely from childhood sentiment, a last reminder of his innocent past, one soaked with ichor and hate. It was a memory Sebastian would not let him forget and, quite frankly, neither did the queen; with every criminal he swept off the streets and sent to hell, Ciel remembered _them._

How could man, a being created in the very image of god, be so cruel to another of its kind? How could they see the justice in murdering children—torturing boys and girls who just wanted to see home again?

It was a puzzling, pointless question that Ciel had given up on. Better to say that evil ran rampant—an incurable disease—then spend another moment trying to solve an inexplicable catechism.

This was how he pushed through each and every day.

* * *

Lady Elizabeth arrived at Phantomhive Manor a little past three, having sent a note beforehand so Sebastian could greet the young lady and escort her inside. In truth, the demon neither liked nor disliked his master's fiancée—rather, he was amused by her. A girl of such soaring spirit and loving fidelity reduced to carving diamond from coal as the boy she loved strode further and further into the darkness.

"What a pleasant afternoon, wouldn't you say Sebastian?" She smiled cheerily, making conversation as pleasantly and sweetly as she would to a duke or contessa.

It was one of the rare qualities that Sebastian found winsome—or at the very least, entertaining.

"Quite, my lady." He gave her a swift smile in return. "Though a bit chilly, is it not?"

"Oh goodness, no! I haven't even felt the cold quite yet—Edward challenged me to a fierce race through the country and, well, I simply couldn't say no. Rhine flew like the wind of course but my Joan wasn't far behind. Soon, she will be on par with that stallion, I just know it."

"Rhine? Joan?"

His master's betrothed flushed a pretty, cherry blossom pink. "Forgive me Sebastian, I've been most forgetful haven't I? Rhine belongs to Edward; he's an Arabian stallion father purchased for him on his ninth birthday. After clambering onto the saddle, Edward declared he'd name it after Prince Rupert of the Rhine and that it would be the finest warhorse the world has ever seen!" She described laughingly, happily walking alongside Sebastian as they made their way further down the corridor. "Joan belongs to me, though! She's a beautiful pure white thoroughbred that mother obtained while in France. I wasn't supposed to have her until I was nine but unloading horses is very troublesome, you know? So I spied at the right time and convinced father to give me Joan two years early!" She beamed proudly. "And I've named her after Joan of Arc, a worthy woman's warrior if there ever was one!"

Sebastian was mildly surprised by the declaration. "I had no idea you were a student of French history, my lady. The master informed me that you preferred the poems of Wordsworth to the texts of Tocqueville."

Elizabeth's emerald green eyes glimmered. "He talks about me?" She murmured, a little bit astonished as a headier blush appeared on her cheeks.

"Indeed he does, my lady." Sebastian supplied—after all, what kind of butler would he be if he didn't reassure his master's wife-to-be? _And hint at a few tidbits that I'm sure she would invigorating._ "Every time he passes by a forsythia tree or spies the pink spirea in full bloom, he remembers your ebullient charm and seems elevated in both spirit and mind."

He expected to hear the high pitched, swooning squeal she often employed whenever Ciel paid her a compliment. In fact, Sebastian had braced himself for Hermes's wings, ready to watch her sprint down the hallway with gleeful, reckless abandon, bursting into his master's office without care or consideration. It would have been delightfully chaotic to say the least.

Instead, the blonde haired girl faltered in step and cast Sebastian a doubting, baleful look though her smile remained in place. "That's a lovely thing for you to say." She managed, sounding both choked and hesitant. "Only you mustn't speak so freely about Ciel's emotions like that. He wouldn't care for it, no matter how empathetic your intentions."

"Empathetic?" He repeated, somewhat dumbfounded. No one had called him empathetic in _centuries._ In fact, Sebastian couldn't even fathom what he'd said just _now_ to make this little girl think him capable of empathy. "Do forgive me, my lady, but I cannot see how my comment—simple and blatant—could have earned such favor from your sweet lips."

She smiled again, a little sadly this time. "Joan of Arc once said, 'one life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it.'" She murmured. "I will continue to live each day with as much joy as I can muster, if only to see Ciel smile again. I believe if I try hard enough, I can bring him some happiness—whether through my actions alone or by way of the collective. I don't know how and I don't care. All I want is to see Ciel smile again and I suspect you know as much, Sebastian. You've never been unobservant."

He gave her a shallow bow, lips curled in a faint smile. "You are without a doubt the most endearing of women." It was true. "If I may, is that why you see Joan of Arc as such an inspiration? Forgive me for being so forward but I cannot seem to reconcile her own aesthetic to the sumptuous delicacy of your own."

"Oh, to be sure." Elizabeth agreed, clasping her hands in front of her skirts. "I…I was rather ashamed at having named my thoroughbred Joan, you know. I thought perhaps it might give off the wrong connotation—the wrong feeling. But I could not help but remember the determination and gain Lady Joan invoked when she dared to address a battlefield of men. To die for one's country is a beautiful thing and though she died for the French, she died knowing that she did what she could for the thing she loved most. I suppose it's rather foolish of me to liken my spirit to that of Joan of Arc's but isn't that how all people are? Moving towards something grander in the hope of improving?" She bit down on her lip, contemplative of her next words. "If I were to die for something, I would rather it be for something I loved. Many fear death but I do not think it would be too terrible to die, not after you've seen the thing you've longed for most. It would be painful to part with it but I could rest easy knowing I'd at least witnessed it. Does that make any sense at all? I do feel silly for having talked for so long." The lady looked rather embarrassed though Sebastian found himself mesmerized by that glimpse of steel he had just seen.

Elizabeth Midford's soul was a cavern of sunlit mazes, high hedges of everest green, dotted with full pink roses and white baby's breath. But at the end of each maze there would be something so magnificently golden that Sebastian felt his own demonic essence burn. If his lord and master was the moon and blue violet, then his Lady Elizabeth was Solaris and the blush tulip—he was the black diamond, she was the white pearl. They were a contrast that Sebastian wanted so desperately to consume, to taste their juxtaposition that, for a fleeting moment, he wondered what it would be like to sample a bit of her soul right then and there.

She was a silver sword wrapped in gold satin, tied with a freesia blossom.

A fatal, sharp smile appeared on his face as his right hand came to rest on top of his chest. "My lady, you are truly a being of warmth and affection. My master is fortunate to have you by his side."

"You're much too generous with your compliments, Sebastian." She smiled. "I don't think myself too particular about such favors."

"No," Sebastian lifted his head, silken black strands brushing against his forehead, "I think you are the light at the end of every catacomb, my lady. Take care not to abandon such brightness." _Or I might just devour you whole._

In the end, they arrived at Ciel's study a full ten minutes behind schedule and while the earl grimaced and chided Sebastian for his delay, the butler could only smile.

He'd taken a shard of truth from Elizabeth Midford and perhaps, funnily enough, it'd be sharp enough to help cut down the last remains of his lord's innocence.

 _Lizzy._

* * *

"What did you think of your afternoon with Lady Elizabeth?" Sebastian inquired casually, setting down a tray of warm milk and honey.

The cobalt haired earl shrugged, seemingly detached of all pretense. "Fine. As well as any afternoon can go." He sat down on the bed, a slim novel in his hands.

"And might I inquire what that is, my lord?" Sebastian spooned a generous helping of honey into the cup. "Another tax report?"

"No." His master sighed, sounding quite annoyed. "When did you become so intrusive?"

"Oh, have I? Do forgive me then, young master, the hour is late."

He could feel Ciel's glare without even having to turn around. "As if demons need sleep." He sneered. He opened the leather bound book.

Sebastian heard every gentle turn of the page, how his master ran his forefinger down the printed text.

"It's a book of poems Elizabeth brought me." Ciel murmured, a faint—very faint—hint of affection in his usually stoic voice. "Alfred de Musset. It's…quite good. She was right. It does suit me." The last few words were uttered so quietly that no one, save a demon, could have heard them.

"It seems your Lady Elizabeth is quite fond of the French these days. From her thoroughbred to her poems."

He turned around, just in time to see his master's head snap up, eyes cold. "How do you know about Joan?" He asked suspiciously.

"Ah she told me this afternoon, my lord. When we were distracted in the hallway." Sebastian brought over the cup and saucer, delicately placing it on his lord's gilded night table. "She seems to have a great fondness and passion for Joan of Arc."

Ciel's face softened, ever so slightly. "Yes, she's always had a love for historical figures—particularly foreign ones. It's because of Aunt Frances. Growing up, Lizzy and I learned French together and she was always better at it than I. While I helped her with arithmetic and geometry, she spoke to me in the most beautiful French and Italian. Somewhere, she wants to be a poet still."

"When did she give up that dream?"

The silent kiss of page meeting page caressed the night air, filling the silence. Sebastian waited all too patiently.

"I don't know." Ciel confessed finally. "She was wonderful at it. Lizzy still reads poetry at times but—" suddenly, he stopped himself, as if finally having realized that it was _Sebastian_ in the room.

His jaw clenched. Without another word, his master set the book on his nightstand and picked up the saucer of milk and honey instead.

"My lord?"

"I'm tired. Stay until I finish and then leave."

Sebastian bowed, ever elegant. "Of course, if that's your wish."

"It is."

The demon smirked. "My lord."

 _Lizzy._ He smirked. You _still refer to her as_ ** _Lizzy_** _. For a man who wishes to die a singular death, you seem determined to bring quite a few down with you._ Sebastian chuckled. _What a paradox you are, young master. What_ ** _fun_** _._

* * *

 **\- "such soaring spirit" - lifted this from the letters of Cesare Borgia. The Duke of Valentinois was the inspiration behind Machiavelli's _The Prince_ and during his lifetime (1400s Rome) was a feared condottiero (a general/mercenary of sorts), nobleman, politician, and one-time cardinal who went after what he wanted with relentless strength. **

**\- tulip: meaning belief, declaration of love in Victorian times.**

 **\- freesia: meaning innocence, thoughtfulness, trust, friendship, and sweetness. (Basically, Lizzy as a flower.)**

 **\- Alfred de Musset (1810 - 1857): a poet, playwright, and novelist of the Romantic movement. He's famous for his quote, "how glorious it is - and also how painful - to be an exception."**

 **A/N: Another Lizzy-related drabble through Ciel and Sebastian's eyes. (And yes, that first sentence was lifted from Game of Thrones - what can I say, Melisandre's fun to quote. And Carice van Houten is gorgeous.)**

 **Next chapter: Ciel and Sebastian go to Paris on the queen's orders to investigate mysterious disappearances at the Palais Garnier opera house. (This may be 2 parts, I'm not sure.)**

 **La revue? (Pour moi?)**


End file.
